Why I Need a To-Do List Just to Have a Shower

By a Chronically Ill, Neurodivergent Woman Who’s Doing Her Best

Jun 26, 2025

a close up of a notepad with a keyboard in the background — Photo by Walls.io on Unsplash

I used to think to-do lists were for high-flying CEOs and colour-coded mums with wall planners the size of the Sistine Chapel. Turns out, I need one just to wash my hair.

If you're chronically ill, neurodivergent, or (like me) blessed with both, then you’ll know that tasks like “have a shower” are never just one task. They’re complex, multi-layered obstacle courses that require planning, pacing, and sometimes a pep talk worthy of a sports movie.

Let me walk you through it.

My Actual To-Do List for a Shower

Decide if today is a shower day.
This involves mentally scanning my energy levels, checking the weather (cold = extra difficulty), calculating how many spoons I have left, and whether I’ll need to use dry shampoo diplomacy one more time.
Convince myself it’s worth it.
“You’ll feel better,” I say. “You’ll be human again.” I’ve learned that this is sometimes true, but also sometimes a lie sold by the personal hygiene industrial complex.
Locate clean towel.
Is it in the airing cupboard? Is it on the floor? Did someone use it to mop up orange juice? Who can say.
Check the bathroom is free.
Sounds simple. But in a house where everyone’s routines are unpredictable and someone is always needing a wee the second I step under the water, this can derail the whole operation.
Gather all the required items.
Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, razor, clean pants, pyjamas, moisturiser, ear plugs (hello sensory issues), and a post-shower snack because showers are surprisingly draining.
Rest before the shower.
Yes, before. Because just preparing to shower can trigger a small flare-up. And if I don’t sit down now, I’ll end up crying on the bath mat halfway through, wondering how standing up became an Olympic event.
Do the actual shower.
The main event. Bonus points if I wash my hair and shave my legs. Double points if I remember to rinse out the conditioner. Triple points if I don’t just sit on the floor for five minutes because the water feels nice and my back’s gone on strike.
Dry off and collapse.
Towelling dry feels like exfoliating with sandpaper when you have fibromyalgia. Putting on clothes is an upper body workout. And the post-shower fatigue? Oh, it’s real. So real. I usually need a recovery lie-down before I attempt anything else—like walking to the kitchen.
Forget what I was doing next.
I emerge from the bathroom like a dazed bear. Clean, yes. But now I’ve lost all sense of time, purpose, and why I came in here to begin with.

But Why a List, Though?

Because executive dysfunction is a sneaky little gremlin. If I don’t break a task down into micro-steps, my brain sees “shower” and goes, “Too hard. Can’t do. Let’s scroll Instagram instead.”

A list gives me structure. It takes the abstract (“be clean”) and makes it concrete (“stand up, turn on water, attempt to pretend this is relaxing”). It reduces the cognitive load, which is already overflowing thanks to pain, fatigue, sensory overload, and the never-ending soundtrack of Mum? Mum? Mum? in the background.

It’s Not Laziness. It’s Logistics.

When your brain runs on Windows 95 and your body’s powered by a dodgy car battery, every task takes more time, more thought, more spoons. The shower is just the tip of the iceberg—every “simple” job has an invisible checklist behind it.

And here’s the truth: some days, I can’t do it. I dry shampoo, swipe on some deodorant, and call it a win. That’s okay too. Survival is not a moral failure.

If You Get It, You Get It

If your to-do list has entries like “brush teeth (optional)” or “sit upright,” then welcome. You are not alone, and you are definitely not broken.

Whether you're managing ADHD, autism, chronic illness, or the thrilling combo meal of all three, your life might look different—but it’s still valid. And yes, it absolutely counts as a productive day if all you did was shower. Especially if you remembered to rinse your armpits.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go lie down. Item #10: Recover from writing this post.

Want support in navigating energy management, executive dysfunction, and chronic illness? Sign up for more info on my upcoming course “Pace Yourself: Energy Management for Chronically Ill Women” . Because you deserve to thrive—even if today, thriving means simply being clean-ish.